JohnDave Drabble
by QuisTu Canada
Summary: You are JOHN EGBERT, and if you don't wake up your boyfriend, nobody will.   John/Dave drabble. This is my first time writing fanfiction of any kind, so I'm not sure of procedure. T for mild language


== Be the Derpy boy in the glasses

Your name is JOHN EGBERT, and you really need to think of a new way to get Dave up in the morning. Let it be said now that when Dave isn't having bouts of insomnia, he's actually a really, really heavy sleeper! You only figured that one out when you had to go to work one morning only to find him laying on top of you, and that would have been cute and all if it didn't take a whole hour to get him to wake up and roll over. Too bad Dave finally went apeshit and broke your ingenious alarm clock. It had actually worked, for a pretty good while.

* * *

><p>== Be past flashback you<p>

You are now YOU, a year and a half in the past. Being the absolute genius you are, you had figured out a way to get Dave up in the mornings AND improve your prankster's gambit a little all at once. You manage to take apart a brand new alarm clock and a shitty, but functional mp3 player (one of many Dave keeps around for absolutely no freakin' reason) and, just like your old alchemizing days, mash them together until you somehow get the whole stupid mess to work the way you want it to. That is, you make the alarm clock play only songs that, through the years, you've realized Dave hates, the songs getting progressively worse until it starts playing Spice Girls by the time you usually leave for work. Then you glance to the other side of the room to see Dave's iHOME, and realize that you could have just hidden that in different places every morning playing the aforementioned shitty songs. You feel momentarily defeated by someone who, at the time, isn't even here. Then you revel in _another_ flash of pure brilliance. After all, you _could_ do something with the seemingly harmless alarm clock that the stupid iHOME couldn't do from all the way over there. You get to work on the already depressing mess that is your new alarm clock.

== Be the Coolkid

You are now DAVE STRIDER a year and a half in the past, on the same day, and you come home at dusk to an oddly crispy smell and what you can tell from the doorway is a mess of a prank your boyfriend's managed to busy himself with while you were at work. Poor guy must have been pretty tired after all of that Hee'ing and Hoo'ing to leave such a hot mess in the living room. You see Egderp sleeping soundly, but the room is a picture of chaos. Actually, it usually is, despite John's best efforts, but you're pretty sure some of the clothes on the floor have been moved in either haste, or one of the worst attempts to clean up that you've seen in your life. And you used to 'clean' your own room. You proceed to go to bed.

== Go back to being John, the Coolkid is boring while he's asleep

You go back to being JOHN EGBERT in the past, and you proceed to wake up to Avenue Q. Who knew your 'goddamn awful taste in music fucking shit egbert' would come in handy someday? As you get out of the shower and start brushing your teeth, you hear Weird Al blasting, getting continually louder, and you're really pretty glad you invested in a new house. Gosh, you used to get complaints for pretty much anything and everything in the old apartment, from noise complaints to stop-pranking-the-neighbors complaints. Party in the C.I.A finishes after you get dressed and hop downstairs, and it shifts into old recorded refreshment adverts that, even after fifty years, still play at drive-in movie theaters. Which, you remind yourself, you have yet to drag Karkat _or_ Jade to. You know Dave hates these ads, though, since you looked over and talked to him when you were at a movie theater on a 'no-homo' brodate, and you realized that he was staring at the radio with abject horror to anything that sounded like THAT coming through his shitty car stereo. You begin making breakfast for the both of you while listening to REALLY OLD SONGS that Dad listens to. The kind that weren't even cool when he must have been around your age, but that you secretly liked to listen to with him. You would be lying if you said that you didn't know just how horrible your taste in music is. You can't even defend most of the songs that aren't made by Dave, really. Especially since a lot of them are either Dave's least favorite kinds of music, or made before Rose's Mom even knew what alcohol was, and you all pretty much agree that she was probably born gripping an empty bottle of over-classed liquor and wailing like her life was over before it began. Worrying about Dave's definite state of unconsciousness, you start eating your slightly burnt pancakes, wondering if this plan is going to work. By the time your done eating and getting all of your files together for your decidedly unsatisfying, but handsomely-paying job, you hear the Spice girls wailing upstairs. As you're about to walk out the door you realize that he's rolled over and pressed the snooze button when you hear the three minute loop of 'Pop goes the Weasel' (If that, coupled with his sleep-addled knowledge of his own boyfriend doesn't get him up, nothing will) and you nearly mourn the fact that you have to be at work in fifteen minutes. You brighten up thinking about how silly the look on Dave's face is going to be (even with the glasses on) and you give a really frightening, feminine giggle and start out to your car.

== Quickly become the awakening Coolkid

You once again are DAVE STRIDER a year and a half in the past, and you proceed to wake up absolutely shit-smacked with not only shaving cream, but shaving cream that's every color of the fucking rainbow. You get up with a stream of curses accompanying an already shattering poker face and unplug the damn alarm clock. You wipe the shaving cream off of your face and your glasses, thinking that even though it managed to make you lose your cool for a second in your dead-tired state, that this might have been too tame for Egbert, since he knows the first thing either of you do in the morning (or dead noon, in your case) is shower. You continue by trying to wipe the shitty rainbow shaving cream off of your shirtless chest, chalking it up to Egbert not wanting to wreak some permanant damage to their relatively new house. Well, that's what you think until you realize that the shitty rainbow shaving cream has left a decidedly shittier RAINBOW STAIN on your chest. You go over to the full length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door to see that your face is covered, too, even around your eyes where you rubbed it in after taking off your shades. You try your coolkid best to not flip your shit anymore than you already have and just decide to try to wash it off in the shower. You body, however, has stuck to trying to make you look like the illegitimate son of Rainbow Brite , sans a decently lightened rainbow strip from your hips to your upper thighs indicating where the shaving cream had trouble permeating your boxers until you took them off to shower. Your only real regret is not being able to get revenge. Nobody has ever permeated the stone and iron fortress that is Egbertian ignorance.

* * *

><p>== Enough of this flashback, go back to the present Derp<p>

You are JOHN, and you are making the same breakfast, along with the same contemplation as you do every morning.

== Boring. Instead be the present Coolkid

You are now DAVE STRIDER in the present, and you look over at your boyfriend making you breakfast as usual. You feel kind of bad about finally flipping your shit and breaking the alarm clock that had become routine for you and your lover, but you got Egbert to admit yesterday that, yes, that shit was just plain tortuous after a while. You can see the cogs in his head trying to move behind those illegally beautiful sky-blue eyes, and you kind of hope that he doesn't want to find a way to top that alarm clock on his 'way to improve my derpy pranksters gambit by making Dave's life that much more miserable' list. You see him grinning like the cat that caught the bird, the mouse, and that fine lady cat down the street and you can tell that you're in trouble.


End file.
